Bad Intentions

CHAPTER 10

Reilly put some fine sand in a turquoise plastic box and placed it below the kitchen window. The kitten instantly knew that it was meant to do its business there. At night the kitten slept in Reilly’s bed, curled up at his throat, and when it purred it felt like humming against his vocal cords. When Reilly wandered around his flat, it followed him faithfully. You think you’re a puppy, don’t you, though cats are supposed to be independent, didn’t you know that? But the kitten was not independent. It stuck to him like a limpet. Every time Reilly let himself fall into a chair to get high or to read the Koran it would claw at his corduroy trousers to be allowed up. In the morning when he had to go to work, it looked after him with lost eyes which were still blue. Reilly worked as a porter at the Central Hospital. He thought constantly about the kitten while he rolled beds down the corridors. He rolled children to the playroom, he rolled people in for surgery, he rolled the deceased down to the mortuary in the basement. He was in the habit of whistling quietly as he walked. And all the while he thought about the kitten.

Over the years, Reilly had started making mistakes, and sometimes the beds had ended up in the wrong place. He had been given a warning and he pulled himself together after that. God forbid that I roll someone who is still breathing down to the mortuary, he thought.

Reilly was going through his wardrobe looking for some smart clothes to wear for Jon’s funeral, but he had never owned nice clothes. Everything he had was worn and faded and almost none of it was clean. Most of what he found looked like rags, and he threw them in a pile on the floor. The kitten leapt on top of it to play. Having searched carefully for a long time, he found a high-necked jumper and a pair of khaki combat trousers with numerous pockets. The trousers were creased and it worried him. Yet he felt reasonably pleased, though other thoughts soon dragged him down. The kitten watched him while he got dressed and when he had finished, he took out the Koran.

What is the Day of Noise and Clamour? And what will explain to thee what the Day of Noise and Clamour is? It is a Day whereon men will be like moths scattered about, and the mountains will be like carded wool. Then, he whose balance of good deeds will be found heavy, will be in a life of good pleasure and satisfaction. But he whose balance of good deeds will be found light will have his home in a bottomless Pit. And what will explain to thee what this is? It is a Fire blazing fiercely!

He put the book away. He had studied the Koran extensively, but he did not believe in God. He just liked to pretend that a higher power existed. Now he had read that a punishment awaited him for everything he had done. It was a pit of burning fire. He did not believe in that either and that was a relief, but he told himself that he was atoning in his own way by repeatedly exposing himself to the violent threats in the Koran.

Axel picked him up in the Mercedes.

He was wearing a well-cut suit and a plum-coloured shirt, and he looked Reilly up and down.

‘We’re saying goodbye to Jon,’ he said. ‘And you look like a tramp.’

Reilly was aghast. He did not think the jumper was as bad as that, and the khaki trousers were his best pair.

‘Jon would not have cared about a few creases,’ he muttered.

He trudged down the stairs after Axel and got into the car. From the corner of his eye he studied Axel’s suit. It was charcoal with thin lapels and he also wore a long coat.

‘You could have done something with your hair,’ Axel continued. ‘It’s just hanging there.’

He leaned forward to see what Reilly was wearing on his feet.

‘You haven’t even got laces in your shoes,’ he pointed out. ‘Why not?’

‘They snapped,’ Reilly said. He fumbled with the seat belt.

‘It’s about time you took a good look at yourself in the mirror,’ Axel said.

‘I haven’t got one,’ Reilly said.

‘You must have one in your bathroom?’

‘It broke.’

‘And how did you manage that?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. I must have been high. I don’t have to account for every minute of the day,’ he added, a little hurt because Axel was pinpointing his bad habits.

Nothing more was said. They drove on in silence and Reilly watched people through the windows of the car. Each and every one of them was going somewhere, yet it looked as if they were all lost. As if they did not know the streets and were complete strangers to the town.

‘It would be very odd’, he said out loud, ‘if there’s no purpose behind it all. Life. And us.’

‘Don’t start all that,’ Axel said.

‘But think about snowflakes,’ Reilly said. ‘And the Northern Lights.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Axel said, ‘but they prove nothing.’

‘So you think that beauty is completely random?’ Reilly said. ‘People who require proof of everything are impoverished,’ he carried on. ‘They’re afraid to surrender to something. They’re scared to lose control.’

‘You’re a dreamer,’ Axel said. ‘You’ll never make anything of yourself.’

‘You mean I’ll never earn what you earn?’

‘Correct,’ Axel said.

‘I was right,’ Reilly replied. ‘You’re dirt poor.’

Again he stared out of the window at all the lost people.

‘Do you think his dad will be there?’ he said.

‘Tony Moreno, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘No idea. They never had any contact. Perhaps he’s got a new family. Perhaps Jon has a pile of siblings he never got to meet, a bunch of mini-Morenos running around in Naples.’

‘What do you intend to say in the church?’ Reilly asked.

‘Just the usual,’ Axel said. ‘The stuff people want to hear.’

A dark, slender man sat in the front pew close to the wall, and though he was small, his white linen suit made him stand out. It was Tony Moreno, who had come all the way from Naples. He was huddled up on the pew as though he did not want to be seen, as though he did not want people to remember that he had left when Jon was little. The vicar had done his bit. He moved aside when Axel stepped up in his well-cut suit. In his hand he held a sheet of paper which quivered, but his voice was clear and sincere when he spoke.

‘Jon,’ he said. ‘You were a unique person.’

A sigh rippled through the congregation. His voice carried beautifully through the church and he looked very handsome in his grey suit. He stood close to the coffin. It was made from mahogany, and an abundance of flowers covered the dark wood. He was obviously deeply moved. The fact that he had lied about some important details surrounding Jon’s death did not strip him of the right to mourn, he believed, and it was good to feel a bit sentimental.

‘You were intelligent, humble and compassionate,’ he carried on. ‘And you had a strong conscience, which reacted to the slightest thing. You were a better person than us. You cared about the weak, you felt the injustice of the world, and sometimes you allowed it to torment you. You were in the eye of the storm your whole life.’

At this point Axel looked up at the mourners and he saw that they were mesmerised. He could also see what they were thinking. That this Frimann, this friend of Jon’s, was indeed a good-looking man, well-dressed, articulate, sincere. He granted Ingerid Moreno, who was sitting in the front pew, a sympathetic smile.

‘You asked much of yourself and others,’ he said. ‘You were a good friend. You were honest, patient and extremely sensitive. Your sensitivity made it difficult for you to enjoy both the big and the little things in life. Eventually it got too much for you. While we were sleeping, you were swept away by your own black thoughts. We don’t understand and we’re completely at a loss. What was it we failed to see? What was it we did not understand?’

Axel turned to the coffin and bowed respectfully.

‘As long as there is breath in us, we will remember the good times,’ he said. ‘Jon Moreno. We thank you.’

They carried Jon to his grave to the tune of Madrugada’s ‘Highway of Light’. Axel and Reilly walked at the front; behind them were Jon’s cousin and the diminutive Tony Moreno in his white suit. At the back were two colleagues from Siba Computers. The six men struggled to find their rhythm, but after a clumsy start they managed to carry their burden with the speed and dignity that suited someone’s final journey.

They came out into the blinding light. Reilly tried to adapt his pace. From time to time he would peek at Axel who was walking steadily on the left. Far away someone slammed a car door. They continued their slow progress. Reilly shifted his gaze from the vicar’s cassock, which undulated in front of him, and he recognised Molly Gram. She was wearing a green dress and with her white hair she reminded him of a dandelion in seed. She was not with the other mourners. She stood to one side with Melis on her arm. Reilly could see the dog was struggling to be let loose. She must have left it in the car while they had been inside the church, he thought, and now that it was all over, she had gone to get it. It really was very shaggy. It reminded him of one of those mops you use to wash floors.

He stared ahead once more, at the vicar’s back and rediscovered his rhythm. They did not have far to go now, he could see the black grave and the sight of it made him feel weak. For the second time he sensed movement and he realised Melis must have jumped down from Molly’s arm. The terrier raced towards them and everything happened incredibly quickly. Overjoyed at seeing him again it latched on to Reilly’s trouser leg with great determination. The terrier got hold of the cord running through the drawstring hem of his trouser leg. Reilly tried to shake his foot loose, but in the process he shifted the coffin’s centre of gravity, and the broken rhythm spread to the other pall-bearers. Axel, on the left-hand side, got into trouble and the cousin and the two colleagues from Siba Computers shifted from foot to foot to maintain their balance. Tony Moreno ended up squatting. He squeezed the brass handle so hard his hand grew white from lack of circulation. A hush of fear went through the mourners. All six men staggered hopelessly back and forth as the little dog yanked and tugged at Reilly’s trousers. The mourners at the rear stopped, some clasped their mouths and others clutched their chests. Molly started shouting and the coffin began to slide forwards. A violent struggle followed to keep it in position, but the disaster was inevitable. Jon’s coffin sloped mercilessly towards the ground. A corner of it hit the slate-covered path with a crack. The flowers skidded off and arranged themselves in a heap at the feet of the vicar, a sea of roses, lilies and white ribbons. With love. From all of us.

Melis let go and rushed quick as lightning back into Molly’s arms. The men lifted up the coffin again. One corner of it was damaged: the jagged wood glowed bright, but no one said a word. Later Reilly remembered that Tony Moreno made the sign of the cross.

The wake was held in the church hall.

Tony Moreno appeared in the doorway. He stared at the buzzing crowd, then hesitated before he turned around and left. People looked after him as he hurried off, a small man in a crumpled suit. Axel told funny stories, Ingerid cried, but she had to laugh, too, because he was a brilliant storyteller, and even better at making things up, Reilly thought. After all, he had played a part in most of the incidents Axel described and he barely recognised them. In Axel’s embellished version everything was wilder and madder. It did Ingerid good to laugh, the colour returned to her cheeks. After they had been chatting for a while, she remembered something important. Her bag was on the floor, and now she dipped into it to show them something. Her hand brought out a book. Its cover was made from coarse red fabric.

‘Look what Hanna Wigert gave to me,’ she said. ‘It was in a drawer in Jon’s room. It’s a diary. He wrote a diary all the time he was at Ladegården.’

Axel gave her a baffled look. Reilly felt a blow to his stomach. A diary. Bloody hell.

‘Hanna wanted to give it to me personally,’ Ingerid said.

Axel nodded. He was gripping the edge of the table. Ingerid put the book back in her bag and clicked it shut.

‘I will copy Jon,’ she said. ‘I’ll put it in my desk drawer. One day, when I’m feeling very brave, I’ll read it. Jon may not have wanted me to – after all, a diary is a private thing – but I might find some answers.’

Axel finally leapt into action. You could see him preparing for an attack. He drew his chair closer, leaned forward over the table and placed a hand on her arm. It was golden against her white skin, a strong, tanned hand with clearly visible veins.

‘Think twice before you read it,’ he said. ‘Perhaps there were things he wanted to spare you.’

She looked surprised. Her eyebrows shot up.

‘What would they be?’

‘Well,’ Axel hesitated. ‘Those confessions may not be intended for our eyes. For yours, I mean.’

‘But he’s my son,’ she said, ‘and now I’ve got nothing left. Only his thoughts in that diary and I so want them.’

Axel tightened his grip on her arm.

‘But the things you write in a diary are the very things you want to keep secret,’ he said.

Ingerid Moreno started to waver.

‘I know that. But Jon took his own life. He left me all alone again. Who is going to bury me now, can you tell me that? Do you know what this means? I’ll have to die among strangers. I’ll forgive Jon, but only if he had good reason.’

‘Well,’ Axel nodded. ‘As long as you’re not disappointed. As long as it doesn’t make matters worse.’

Ingerid Moreno freed her arm from Axel’s grip.

‘Jon would never disappoint me,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of that.’

Axel was always the driving force in our little engine, Philip Reilly mused. He was in charge of operations and maintenance. He got us out of every scrape. Whenever it started rattling in one place, he would be there in a split second and tighten a bolt.

Whenever they needed forgiveness for some boyish prank, he would charm people into submission, men and women alike. They had been able to get away with anything. Axel Frimann had his own light, an overwhelming aura of warmth, and when he looked at people, their sense of self-worth would instantly soar. Now he had lost his usual composure. Axel was normally a man of action. He could turn every situation to his own advantage. He had no time for people who surrendered to their fate. But now it appeared that Jon’s innermost thoughts were to be found inside that diary, and he was no longer in control.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’

‘You leave Ingerid alone,’ Reilly said.

Axel stopped pacing. What had Ingerid said? That she would do as Jon had done and put the diary in a drawer. And then, when she summoned up the courage one day, she would read it.

‘There’s a desk just inside the front door,’ he said. ‘I bet the diary is in one of the drawers.’

Reilly gave him a horrified look. The ideas taking shape in Axel’s head were more than he could tolerate.

‘We need that diary,’ Axel said.

‘And here I was thinking I was the crazy one,’ Reilly said. ‘It is completely out of the question and I sincerely hope that you understand that.’

‘The diary is evidence.’

‘That depends on what Jon wrote in it,’ Reilly said. ‘Don’t underestimate him.’

Axel crossed to the open window. He stared out of it, both hands planted firmly on the windowsill. His muscles bulged under his shirt and Reilly was reminded of an ox in front of a closed gate.

‘Deep down you’re really very naive,’ he said. ‘You think we’ve got a chance to get away with it all, but we don’t. And that might be just as well. I’ve always known that this day would come. But then again, I’m not the one worrying about a top job with Repeat.’

‘No, you live in a hovel,’ Axel said. ‘And you’ve got a crap job.’

‘I like my hovel. I like moving beds around.’

Over at the window Axel groaned loudly. His broad back was outlined by the light from outside.

‘Do you know what occurred to me in the church today?’ he asked. ‘Jon wouldn’t have made it anyway. Jon was constantly on edge, breathless, practically. You would have thought he had a heart defect.’

Reilly was pondering something else.

‘What do you think it looks like inside his coffin?’ he asked.

‘What are you on about now?’

‘It hit the ground. Jon must have skidded forwards. Perhaps he’s squashed up in a corner.’

‘There’s no room for movement inside a coffin,’ Axel said. ‘They’re made to measure. And even if he did bump his head against a corner, there’s no one to see it anyway.’

Reilly did not reply. But the thought that Jon was not lying as he should haunted him for a long time.